Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The plane stayed high, very high.
25,000 feet in fact.
It was C-2A Greyhound. Manufactured by Grumman Aerospace Corporation, it is the US Navy’s only carrier-onboard-delivery (COD) aircraft of high-priority cargo and personnel. Able to carry up to 28 passengers, it is one of the most versatile of aircraft able to deliver special stores, engine components and afterburners and has the largest payload of any COD planes.
Carrying a huge array of navigation and communication equipment including VHF and UHF radios, GPS, Doppler radar and a Critical Service Life Extension Program (CSLEP) they are expected to continue COD operations well into the future.
Today, however, they had another cargo.
16 United States Navy SEALs.

“Sir, we are arriving at our destination. Can you make sure your men are securely in place?” The pilot called back to Stewart from the cockpit.
“4th Platoon, are you securely in place!”
“Yes sir!”
“All ready!” he called back.
“Okay.” The pilot began his descent. When they finally broke through the clouds, he peered out through the windscreen. In the far distance was the aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman, CVN-75.
At an overall length of 333m the Truman was a giant of a ship. She is the 8th Nimitz-class carrier to be built by Northrop Grumman Newport News, formerly Newport News Shipbuilding, the largest privately-owned shipyard in the United States and the only one capable of building the Nimitz-class super-carriers.
As the plane flew closer, the pilot could make out the scarlet ‘Give ‘em hell’ flag flying proudly on top of the superstructure.
“USS Harry S. Truman. Come in. USS Truman. Please come in.” The pilot spoke into his radio microphone.
“This is the USS Truman,” was the reply.
“Truman, this is VRC-40 flight, Delta-Niner. Request permission for landing.”
“VRC-40 Delta-Niner, standby.”
The pilot waited for a few minutes, keeping the plane on track.
“VRC-40 Delta-Niner, this is the USS Truman. The flight deck is clear and you are clear for landing.”
“Roger that. Thank you Truman.”
In the cargo area, Fuzzy Hickman looked pale and his eyes were closed. Stewart tapped him on the shoulder.
“Fuzzy, what’s up?” he asked. “You okay?”
“I’ve never liked carrier landings.”
“Neither have I. You’ll be fine.”
Stewart felt the plane drop quickly and the jolt when it hit the carrier’s runway. The familiar jarring, whiplash-like feeling came about when the plane’s tail-hook caught on the arresting wires, designed to catch the plane and to stop it quickly.
“Okay, men,” Stewart called out. “Let’s get out of here.”
The SEALs got up, collected there gear and filed out of the back of the Greyhound. Stewart was the last off.
“Hey there, Danny-boy.”
Stewart turned.
There stood Captain Marcus Boradenko, USN, captain of the USS Harry S. Truman.
“Sir, it’s good to see you.” Stewart was surprised to see Boradenko down to greet them.
“How’s your old man.”
“Not too bad. He’s barely coping with retirement.”
Marcus Boradenko was a legend within the Navy and no wonder. Starting off a as a mere fighter pilot for the Navy’s aviation wing, he saved missions and fellow aviators time and time again.
But he had been taught by the best.
Admiral Thomas L. Stewart.
The father of Lieutenant Daniel Stewart.
Over time, they forged a close relationship and became good friends. Daniel remembered Boradenko and his wife Kelly come over for dinner, when the two sailors were in on leave. Danny was still young then.
Boradenko was the older brother, or the fun uncle that Stewart had never had. And now he was calling him sir.
“Are the able to stay for a while,” Boradenko asked.
“No, sorry sir.”
“I understand that you have to get gear and weapons off us.”
“Yeah.”
“Go see our armory. They fit you and all your men out. I’ve gotta go now. You know, being captain and all. Sometimes you would have thought that they couldn’t think for themselves.”
Stewart smiled.
“I hope to see you before I go, Uncle Marcus.”
Boradenko turned and laughed loudly.
“I hope to see you Danny-boy.”
With that he turned and walked off.

Muhtashim sat in his office, waiting nervously.
Ring! Ring!
The cell phone on his desk started to vibrate. It moved as if it was dancing.
“Yes.”
“I see you have placed the $100,000 in the account.”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. I know you people can get low on money sometimes.”
“We have wealthy supporters.”
“Yes, of course.”
“What is this information?”
“I understand you are having a meeting tomorrow.”
Muhtashim was startled by this. How did he know? “Yes, we are.”
“A meeting with some very important guests.”
“Yes.”
“A SEAL Team is coming.”
“What?”
“You know a SEAL team, special operations, kung fu crap.”
“I know what they are. What do you mean coming?”
“Attacking, assaulting. Whatever you guys call it. There coming to get Mohammed Al’Rafique.”
Muhtashim gasped. They can’t come now! Not with this meeting. It’s too important!
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Do not cancel the meeting. They know you’re on to them then. Play it cool.”
“Yes.”
“I expect the other $300,000 in my account now. Goodbye”

The armoury inside the USS Harry S. Truman was a sailors and soldiers delight. Equipped to fit out United States Marines as well as Navy SEALs, they had all manner of weapons and gear.
Chief Petty Officer Mickey Vogas spoke with Lt. Stewart while the member of Stewart’s platoon walked around, poking and prodding the gear on the shelves, whispering to each other about what they thought.
“You keep a good stock of gear here, CPO.”
“Yeah, well, every so often you guys turn up and sometimes we have to fit out those Marines.”
“So have everything we’ll need.”
“Sir, if it exists I’ll have it or I’ll be able to get it. So, do you guys need combat uniforms?”
“Yeah.”
“Urban camouflage or the black Nomex jumpsuit?”
“I’ll think we’ll stick with the Nomex.”
“Okay, there over on the rack there.” Vogas pointed to the far side of the room. “Get your men to try out the sizes. If you need more I got some out the back.”
“Thanks.”
“And weapons? You going CQB.” CQB was close-quarters battle.
“Yeah, probably the MP-5 SD-N, with a 9mm Sig-Sauer P226 as the sidearm.”
“And your long-riflemen.” Vogas was referring to 4th Platoons snipers.
“They’ve got their own weapons. We’ll also want flash bangs and the standard fragmentation grenade.
“Sure thing.”
“Where can I get medical kits?”
“Speak to Lt. Bowden in the medical centre.”
“Thanks.”
When Vogas disappeared into the storeroom in the back of the armoury, Stewart headed up one level with Tony ‘Fireman’ Flynn, one of the platoons medics along with Samuel ‘Doc’ Michaelson.
When they arrived, Stewart went and asked directions from a nurse.
“Where can I find Lt. Bowden?”
The nurse pointed to the office at the end.
“Thanks.”
When Stewart knocked and opened the door, where he expected to find a man, he found a small woman in her 30’s.
“Lt. Bowden.”
“Who’s asking?” was the terse reply.
“Lt. Daniel Stewart, commander 4th Platoon SEAL Team 2.” Bowden didn’t look up from her paperwork, clearly unimpressed.
“What do you want?”
“Some medical kits.”
“Check the store room. They are pre-prepared. Everything you’ll need.”
“Thankyou.”
Flynn and Stewart backed out of the room. As they closed the door, they heard “You’re welcome.”

When they arrived back down at the armoury, the rest of the team was all kitted up in their new black DuPont Nomex jumpsuits, used by special operations forces teams worldwide.
On the bench lay a collection of MP-5 SD-N and Sig Sauer handguns, along with bundles of flashbangs and frag grenades.
The Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachine gun is used by nearly every special operations forces unit in the world and set the standard on what submachine guns should be like. They are the worlds finest. The MP-5 SD-N designates it as the silenced Navy version, as opposed to the standard MP-5N (Navy) or MP-5SD (silenced). One common misconception is that MP-5 are getting old and there are newer and better versions available such as the MP-10 or the MP-7. The MP-10 is just a MP-5 chambered for the 10mm round instead of the 9mm. It is actually designated MP-5/10. And the MP-7 is not a submachine gun. It is a personal defence weapon, used by downed helicopter pilots who need a small and compact fast-firing gun.
The Sig-Sauer P226, along with the MP-5 SD-N is the standard weapons for the Navy SEAL units. Made famous by the United States Secret Service, the P226 is a rugged, reliable semi-automatic handgun that is superbly accurate. At a handy size of 7.7” overall it is surprisedly compact among the high-impact handguns.
“Okay, men, load up, where getting out of here.” The SEALs picked up there weapons, grenades and other various equipment that CPO Vogas had brought out.
“Thanks CPO,” said Stewart as he passed him on the way to the door.
“Not a problem, Lieutenant.”

Danny Stewart looked out over the ocean. Surrounding the USS Harry S. Truman where the various cruisers, destroyers and support ships of its carrier battle group, or carrier strike group as they are now known. In the hazy distance Stewart could even see the Los Angeles-class submarine USS Albuquerque bobbing in the swell.
The carrier strike group was moored halfway between Crete and Turkey, on a routine deployment to the Mediterranean. The area, especially the eastern parts of it, was extremely volatile. The US military like to keep a carrier on station for whenever things got a bit exciting.
It was windy on the flight deck and the roar of the Tomcat and Superhornet fighter jets flying overhead on exercise only increased the sound.
Seaman Edward ‘Grease Monkey’ Lewis stared, entranced, at the F-14 ‘Tomcat’ being prepared for take-off. Always fascinated with engines, the other members of 4th Platoon were ever wondering why he didn’t become mechanic, machinist or crew chief.
The jet blast deflector rose up and the catapult flung the plane forward at an extreme speed. When the Tomcat reached the end of the deck, for a second it looked like it would go straight over and fall into the ocean, but it rose up and kept on flying.
“Hey, Grease Monkey!” It was ‘King Kong’ Reilly, so named for his gigantic size. “Let’s go. Stop looking at them birds.” Grease Monkey turned and reluctantly followed the rest of the team.
“Kong, those things are beautiful.”
“Geez, they’re only planes. Get a grip. Me, I prefer a nice gun.”

The rotor spun hard and fast.
Stewart ducked low and ran forward to the entry ramp. The rest of the team was onboard. He had waited until the last moment to say good bye to Boradenko. But he hadn’t shown up and Stewart needed to go. He was halfway up the ramp when…
“Danny-boy, wait.” Stewart turned. There was Boradenko running towards him. He shook Stewart’s hand as he arrived. “Good luck, Danny-boy.”
“Thanks, Uncle Marcus.” Daniel Stewart turned and ran up the entry ramp. Once Boradenko was clear the ramp closed and the chunky Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion chopper lifted off.